


Fall Like Narcissus

by stultiloquent



Series: Danigami Howellight [1]
Category: Death Note, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: (as a plot device - god i'm a horrible person), (slightly anyway), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Existential Crisis, Implied Relationships, M/M, Mirror Sex, Narcissism, Unhealthy Relationships, referenced infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stultiloquent/pseuds/stultiloquent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>You can’t stop staring at your reflections. The golden blend of his arms pose a faint contrast against the fading tan of your exposed torso, but everything else is a perfect symmetry. Idly you muse, the two of you would make Wes Anderson jealous.</em> </p><p>what if instead of Dan BEING Light Yagami he MEETS Light Yagami?<br/>2011!Dan, and a certain Japanese law student goes to University of Manchester on an exchange programme. Dan/Light, implied future Dan/Phil. PoV Dan in second-person.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall Like Narcissus

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** mildly unhealthy relationship, implied infidelity, spoilers from EP25 through to the second arc.
> 
>  **A/N:** I know Dan’s existential crisis didn’t happen until he was preparing for his June exams but screw canon, I’ve moved it earlier to Term 1 to match Light’s chronology (which isn’t even canonical lol but at least it makes sense in this AU). Also, side-note, this is my first serious attempt at writing a sex scene, so if it turns out to be laughable at best you’ll know why.  
>  I wrote this whole thing in three days just to procrastinate. Right now it's un-betaed because I can't afford to spend any more time on it, but hopefully I'll come back to clean up the diction and run-on sentences.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** none of this happened, as far as I know it’s impossible unless Light starts existing on our 3-dimensional plane as a real person, and I own none of the named characters in this fic. If you’re Dan or Phil or a friend of theirs please turn around now.

 

* * *

The first time you see him, you’re sat at the back row of a 9AM lecture, having arrived with 30 seconds to spare. He’s already seated in the front rows, self-assured and punctual. You catch his profile: layered brown bangs, warm skin and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass, and for a moment you think, the guy looks just like you even though he’s dressed nothing like you. Then the lecturer starts speaking, and he’s nothing but a fleeting thought.

*

When you see him again, you’re at a moot court showing moral support for your friend. He’s on the opponents’ team, and the placard tells you his name – _Light Yagami_ , something foreign and exotic. They win a landslide victory, Light gives the barest of a smug smile before masking it with good-natured mirth, and you think, I want to be like him.

You leave with your friend, who jabbers on, indignant at her defeat. You nod in response, absentminded and doing a poor job of placating her. You don’t notice his interested gaze.

*

It happens much sooner than you’d expected, but he approaches you first. You don’t do much in the Law Society, but you’re a regular at the socials, and that’s how he finds you, slightly intoxicated and stumbling into his measured gait. He projects himself as much larger than he is – up close, you’ve got easily 4 or 5 inches on him, but your relaxed composure still quakes next to the confidence he exudes in waves. His soft smiles sooth you a little, and somehow, you’re making small talk at one of the poseur tables to the side. You learn he’s a third-year exchange student, he speaks four languages, and before you know it, he’s coaxing your cell-phone number out of you.

It isn’t until he leaves that you realise you’ve been hanging onto his forearm this whole time.

*

The first time you take him out for drinks at the local Starbucks, you order an expresso to try and fight the lingering effects of an all-nighter you pulled two days ago. When you dump a load of sugar into the cup to kill the bitterness, he noticeably freezes, eyes misting over in recognition for the briefest moment, lips twisted into a grimace. You verge on blushing out of shame, but when you look at him again, he’s his usual cordial self: all kind eyes, reassuring smiles and carrying on with the conversation as if he didn’t just notice your unhealthy diet. You wonder if you’d imagined his momentary lapse in composure.

You tread carefully over the next month. It takes five more hang-outs – sometimes at the first Starbucks, sometimes at the on-campus Costa, but always at a coffee house of sorts – before you manage to articulate that you want Light’s help with your revision. You’ve seen his impeccable performance in seminars and can only imagine his academic progress. You want at least a fraction of his knowledge and skills.

It takes you a month, but it takes him five seconds to figure out that really, you’re hopelessly attracted to him. He’s always taken his coffee black, his teas unsweetened; briefly you wonder what it would be like to kiss him – would it taste of perforating aroma or would it just taste sour and bitter? By the time you catch yourself staring at his lips, he’s already stopped speaking. He asks if you’re okay, and you’re not. You’re flustered, averting your eyes and fidgeting; he’s reclining into his armchair and sipping on his coffee with an air of self-satisfaction about him. A subtle, knowing smirk is all that gives away that he _knows_.

*

When you first met him, you’d pegged him as a very serious and driven individual. It’s the impeccable dress sense and confident posture, you reason. Your first visit to his one-room accommodation only further affirms your assessments. Although the on-campus accommodation he is staying in is really not much spacier than the dismal single-person bedroom you had to put up with last year, somehow it seems much less cramped. He keeps his personal furnishings to a minimum, maximising the limited space in the room. Not a single object is out of place, everything is lined up in perfect order, and the bed is made so immaculately it seemed as if the exchange student had only moved in yesterday.

Now, you’re by no means a messy person – in fact, you often appreciate symmetry in furniture placements, and your own room is incredibly tidy compared to Phil’s. But something about Light’s room irks you. Often, bedrooms are telling of a person’s interests and inclinations, but Light’s room is mostly bare. It’s weirdly impersonal, almost restrained. For a second, you think of mausoleums, marble sculpted with clinical precision, oppressive silence pervading throughout.

You blink. It sounds ridiculous even to your ears. You chalk it up to his self-discipline and abort your current train of thoughts.

*

Serious as he tends to be, you draw chuckles out of him. Sometimes, you make offensive, sarcastic remarks about passers-by, and he answers with matching humorous albeit biting commentary. Where he would normally remain demure and polite in public, in your two-person bubble, he becomes your partner in crime. He has an ever so slightly misanthropic sense of humour, but it fits your cynical one like a glove.

Most of the friends you’ve made here, you wield friendly bantering and refrained politeness as your tools for socialisation. But every white lie you attempt to make, Light is two steps ahead of you and has already got you figured out. With him, you don’t have to bite your tongue, because it would be pointless, and he’s usually in agreement. To know you have the constant approval of somebody as brilliant as Light… A strange thrill chases its way down your spine, causing a stir in your stomach.

Some days, you can’t decide whether you want to be him or just have him all to yourself.

*

He knows, but in the end, it’s you who makes the first move. It’s some time towards the start of December, you’ve known him for twenty odd weeks now, and the stress comes out of nowhere and punches you in the face. You’re in his room, going over the term’s materials while he makes more coffee in the flat kitchen, and you suddenly think, oh God, I’m halfway through my Law degree and I don’t even want to work for a law firm, never mind the law enforcement. You realise you’ve spent all your life trying to please and impress everybody around you – Light even, to some degree – and you have your own interests and ambitions and you’re _not fulfilling them._ Your grades here at university have been slipping from day one because you’re simply not interested in your degree in any way, shape or form. The very thought of graduating with a high 2.1 as expected of you, becoming a lawyer and earning more money than you need is nauseating at best. And why, you’re even wasting Light’s time her. Almost at once, the orderliness within these four walls becomes mocking, threatening. It’s all gaining on you. The thoughts swirl around your head in an angry buzz, and you don’t even realise you’re on the floor before you feel a reassuring weight pressed against your back. Somebody places a firm, calming hand on your shoulder, and you’re leaning into the body before you know it. When your breathing steadies, you’re clutching onto Light by the sleeves, crumpling up his iron-pressed jacket. Where you had pressed your face against, two tell-tale spots of moisture are blossoming in tandem. He doesn’t say a word.

The two of you retreat to the bed. You rant nihilist existentialism and helplessness at him, but he counters it all with reassuring pragmatism. It grounds you, like a buoy or a lighthouse for those lost at sea. His eyes sparkle with unprecedented conviction as he speaks. It’s really attractive. You want to kiss him, and this time, you do.

A few minutes of near silence ensues, the only sounds that can be heard are that of lips meeting. It’s all that you can hear, all that occupies your mind. It’s deafening, as are your heart beats. But your epiphany has taken a lot out on your mind, and you slowly descend into a sluggish calm. Tired, your eyelids slide close of their own accord. You fall asleep tucked against Light’s side.

*

You’re not sure if you’re boyfriends now. He never slaps a name on it, and you never get very far with broaching the subject, not with the way it scrambles your train of thoughts every time he turns his liquid caramel eyes on you, or worse still, sweeps you into a paralysing kiss. It’s proving to be rather inconvenient, but you can’t say you’re not enjoying it.

Secretly he basks in your adoration, you revel in being the centre of his attention, and you realise, maybe you’re more alike each other than you’d thought.

*

Introducing him to Phil was bound to happen at some point. After all, the other Youtuber lives in the same apartment. The first time you invite Light over, you’re showing him to the living room couches when the both of you walk in on Phil, hair slightly dishevelled, crouched over the breakfast bar scooping dry frosted cereal to his mouth, straight from the box with his bare hands. Phil freezes instantly, textbook definition of a deer caught in the headlights, and you are a breath away from performing a spectacular facepalm. Instead, you settle for an exasperating glance at your flatmate, and you miss the split-second look of haunted recollection flitting across Light’s expression. When you turn to look at the other brunette, he’s already looking at you in askance. In an attempt to dispel the air of awkwardness, you soldier on with a stutter you are able to largely suppress, introducing the two to each other.

Phil apologises profusely, flushed in embarrassment, but Light, ever the master of social interactions, defuses the situation with a firm handshake. He slips into his usual affable countenance with ease, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Admittedly it could’ve been a lot worse – you have to physically fight off a cringe at the thought of Light catching you and Phil with matching sharpie’d cat whiskers on your faces, video cameras all set up in the bedroom. What would it have looked like to the Japanese student…

Still, courteous as he is, you get the feeling that Light never really clicks with Phil. Two months ago you wouldn’t have noticed, because that’s how Light tends to approach new people, the champion of small-talks and detached politeness that he is. But most people warm up to Phil very quickly, his quirkiness and cheerful personality often working like charms, and Light remains distant throughout his stay. It doesn’t really go away when he leaves, either. You offer to walk him to the bus stop, but he declines politely, sneaks a kiss onto your cheek as compensation, and slips quietly out the front door.

At the resounding click of the door that signals he’s well out of ear shot, Phil turns to you and says, “I don’t think he likes me.”

Logically, you know Light may have been weirded out by Phil’s less-than-flattering first impression, but something nudges at the back of your mind. Phil supplies that he thought on one or two occasions, he caught Light subtly eying him with recognition, although he must have imagined it since they’ve never met each other before today.

It seems the closer you are to Light, the more of an enigma that boy becomes.

*

At length, you take it upon yourself to improve Light’s wardrobe. Not that there is anything wrong with his tailored suits and pressed shirts, but there isn’t a lot of variety in his outfits. He also seems quite culturally bereft, and you delight in witnessing his response to your iTunes library. Interestingly, he has taken to your standard pop punk bands rather quickly.

Tacitly, you know that he wouldn’t have put up with any of this if it were anybody else instead of you in charge. It casts warm, fuzzy feelings in your chest, and they engulf your lungs in the best way possible.

But out of all forms of entertainment, you like playing video games with him best. It’s the one thing where you can be better than him, and once he gets used to the colourful language you tend to resort to when you lose, he chuckles in amusement at your frustration. Sometimes you can tell that he deliberately lets you win, but it doesn’t bother you. It just makes those fuzzy feelings in your chest grow, twining possessively around the vital, beating organ.

*

The first time you fuck, you’re dressed in Light’s typical attire – collared white shirt, plain red tie and dress pants rather than your usual tight jeans and t-shirt combo. He catches you fixing your tie in front of your full-length mirror, and you hear a soft, sharp intake of breath. In the mirror you see Light stood at the doorway, giving you a once-over. It stops you from putting on your earrings.

He stalks closer. It rather reminds you of a prowling feline. The desire in his eyes becomes apparent, and you can’t help but smirk. Slightly nervous under the weight of his stare, you hesitate a tad before you make a calculated move. You muss up your perfected fringe, deliberately combing it into a row of side-swept bangs, and when you look at his reflection you do so with a slight, determined tilt to your head. A challenge.

And he takes you on.

He snakes one arm around your waist, strategically placing the first kiss behind your ear. It’s an open-mouthed kiss, and it’s not long before he starts nibbling on the lobe. You shiver, your legs turned to water in an instant, and you let him when he tears off your meticulously-knotted tie. He drops it unceremoniously onto the floor, somewhat uncharacteristically haphazard, but the piece of clothing is quickly relegated to the back of your mind as he begins unbuttoning your shirt. His head dips and he starts nuzzling his way along your naked shoulder, stopping at the base of your neck to lick the hollow behind your clavicle. One of his wandering hands is dipping into your trousers, finger tips brushing the soft curls above your rapidly hardening cock. You barely manage to bite back a moan; there’s something incredibly intoxicating about having another man, with an eerily similar set of features, crowded against your back, his unmistakable arousal pressed against your thigh. Your eyes flick up to catch Light’s answering ones, and you can tell from his half-lidded gaze that he’s thinking the same thing. His normally brown eyes are flaring red, smoldering with lust, and you hold his gaze as long as you can until his hand ghosts along your length. Your hips buck of their own accord, and you can feel the rumble of his chuckle against your shoulder.

His skin is a shade warmer than yours, and you can’t stop staring at your reflections. The golden blend of his arms pose a faint contrast against the fading tan of your exposed torso, but everything else is a perfect symmetry. Idly you muse, the two of you would make Wes Anderson jealous, but all coherent thoughts flee your mind as Light takes you into a firm grasp, and your eyes roll back upon the first stroke. That’s how it starts, and that’s how it ends. Heedless of your motor control your eyes have slid completely shut, your mouth hangs wide open, and your head is tipped back, lolling helplessly against Light’s shoulder. Your pleasure builds and unfurls itself, threatening to topple you down. At the last moment he pulls you in by the chin to seal it with a bruising kiss. It’s hungry, all-consuming, and you barely register that he tastes like apples rather than coffee before your mind fades out into a white fuzz.

*

“I think you should be more careful, Dan.”

Phil knows too, now; he simply knows you too well to not notice the subtle changes in your demeanour. Apparently, your constant humming of Taylor Swift instead of Kanye is very telling.

“It’s just, I get these vibes off of him.”

A beat. _What do you mean?_ You feel a cold sliver of irrational dread nudging the edges of your thought track.

“You ever noticed that he doesn’t like sweets? He looks mildly offended whenever I try to offer him some. And chocolate, too! Who doesn’t like chocolate? I don’t trust him!”

You burst out in laughter, relieved and bewildered. Oh, Phil.

*

Sometimes, you lose yourself staring at Light. You lose yourself noting all the subtle differences between your facial features and his: like yours, his eyes are almond-shaped in essence, light brown irises tinged with gold. But his eyes taper off at the corners, and there is an old-world sort of beauty in their distinct slant, reminiscent of ancient deities of the East. His cheekbones are also higher than yours, sleeker, and sometimes, curious and unthinking, you trail the very tip of your thumb along the ridge, stopping to tuck loose tresses behind his ear. And you’re four months into your relationship, but even now, whenever Light returns your stare with an amused smile, your stomach still flips thrice over, and you can still hear the _whoosh_ when all your blood rushes to colour your cheeks and you can’t think straight.

Sometimes, you exchange life stories and future ambitions. When he weaves monologues of serving justice and following in his father’s footsteps, impassioned and as close to grinning as you’ve ever seen him, you feel soft smiles tugging at the corners of your lips. When you dream aloud about your broadening ventures into the entertainment industry, he rolls his eyes slightly and cards gentle fingers through the locks atop your head, smoothing out your oft-disturbed fringe.

Sometimes, you let yourself be pulled into his lap. The height difference is still noticeable, but with him it feels good to give up the role as the big spoon, and you let him drape a possessive arm around your hip. It feels good to lean against his chest, feel warm huffs of his breath on the back of your neck. It calms you rather than trigger goosebumps all over your skin.

You realise that somehow, without your permission, your heart has already fallen.

*

At first you don’t notice it. It’s the smallest things, like a pen that moves three inches from its original spot when you turn your back, a cupboard door left hanging slightly open when you’re sure you’ve left it shut tight, or the Xbox console, warm to the touch even though you haven’t played it for a week. But the more Light stays over, the more frequent these things occur. Before long, fruits start to go missing from your groceries. It’s always the apples. One day you turn on your PlayStation and there’s an extra registered player in the system’s records.

You wonder if you’ve finally gone around the bend, or if your irrational fear of poltergeists wasn’t so irrational after all. But you keep it to yourself. No doubt Light wouldn’t appreciate it. What would it sound like if you told the Japanese boy that strange things only happen when he’s around?

But Light seems perfectly at ease. Once or twice you catch him noticing these strange happenings – he’s stood right next to your breakfast bar when another apple disappears from the fruit bowl, it couldn’t have escaped his attention – but he never freaks out. He looks… well-accustomed.

You wonder if it’s part of his habitual efforts to maintain a flawless façade, or if he’s genuinely dealt with supernatural entities all his life. Suddenly you’re not so sure you want to dwell on the subject anymore.

*

When it happens, it’s quite anticlimactic. You’re sat on Light’s bed checking Twitter, he’s taking a shower, and suddenly his phone rings incessantly for five minutes straight, one declined call after another. On the twelfth call, curiosity gets the better of you, and like the cat, you wish you hadn’t entertained it. You pick up the phone to turn off the volume, and you catch the caller ID. It’s written in Kanji, and it would’ve went over your head if the slew of missed calls and texts aren’t all from the same caller. A quick Google search and translation later, you learn of a rising Japanese model-actress, who apparently “loves her Light-o very, very much” and is “hoping he’ll return home soon” (courtesy of magazine interviews).

You would’ve doubted the authenticity of her interviews, except her Wikipedia page confirms that her boyfriend is indeed one of the brightest representatives of University of Tokyo, currently engaged in an exchange programme in the UK, and the footnote links to an article in a prestigious national newspaper. There are also numerous photos of them together on the university campus. This Amane Misa girl always has her arms locked around Light’s elbow.

You sit back, and realise your cheeks are damp.

*

In the next conversation with Light, you bring up Amane Misa. He looks surprised, but you can’t detect a smidge of guilt in his voice when he says they’re on a break. He says it so nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t spared her half a thought since their alleged falling out. You can’t tell if he’s lying or not.

You look away from his face.

You say, okay.

*

You spend less of your time talking and more and more fucking, minimal words exchanged. You shove him onto the floor by the shoulder, grip his hair so hard it must hurt, and he slams you against every hard surface, leaves bruises and marks all over your body that don’t fade for days. He takes without asking, and you do the same. What a lovely pair the two of you make, identical bodies working against each other. He takes you in front of the bathroom mirrors a few more times, and every single time, you come to the soft staccato of his accented murmur. Always, you want him to moan out loud in his native tongue, so you can swallow his shouts in a language you don’t understand. You think about how selfish it all is, how sinfully beautiful it would all look in third-person.

Increasingly, when you look at his flawless composure, you find yourself fighting off a sneer. You’re still drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.

You’re burning alive.

*

In between days of cold silence and tight smiles, you go out for drinks, and there are cordial conversations and shared jokes. It’s a splitting image of your first days together, and you hesitate. You think, maybe, just maybe…

But there are less and less moments of tranquility now. Even video game tournaments strike a sore spot. Most days, the quiet is forced and brimming with venomous tension, until you snap, and you fight or you fuck. But it’s always you that snaps first. Light is so good at keeping his composure – too good, and it’s like trying to throw glass bottles against a wall hoping you’ll get a crack in. His calm collectedness is absolutely infuriating, and it triggers the oft-repressed belligerence in you. Where you once bonded over biting remarks, you now turn your scathing and relentless insults on each other. He chooses his words carefully, and every single one of them are critical hits, poisonous darts that wound you before you can so much as hurl a retort at him. Neither of you are afraid to use your arsenals to their full extents, and it’s ugly. It’s all so ugly, and you wonder how you ever saw beauty in the two of you.

*

He has the courtesy to break up with you before he heads back to Japan. He drops the news like a morning greeting, plain and nonchalant. He wears a neutral expression throughout, giving away nothing, and all you can say in response is a small, disappointed “oh”.

When Phil returns from work, he finds you sprawled on the floor of the bathroom, eyes as blank as your mind. Wordlessly, you turn to look at him, and he knows.

*

There’s a farewell social of sorts for Light – he’s made quite an impression with his academic performance and the several championships he’s secured for the university’s debate team. You go, but you’re no match for his social graces, and within ten minutes this charade of polite conversation and well-kept facades is already making you sick.

To your credit, you manage to stay for a little over an hour.

*

The two years after Light’s departure, it’s a blur of national lockdowns, curfews and terror. A mysterious entity called Kira takes over the world, deaths reach the farthest corner of the globe, and towards the end of 2012, governments start to succumb one after another, helpless like dominoes.

Then, one day, the deaths just cease. Gradually, it's becoming safe to travel again. Like a viral epidemic stopped just in time, and slowly, the world awakens from a distant nightmare.

*

In 2015, you travel to Tokyo with Phil. You visit Shibuya and Yoyogi Park, walk the same streets Light once walked, and you let yourself wonder what the other brunette is up to now. You have found peace with Phil, built a life with the raven-haired Youtuber, worked hard to make most of your dreams come true. And you hope Light has too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback is highly appreciated. :)
> 
>  
> 
> **A/N 2:**  
> 
> I have an appreciation for terrible puns so if you've noticed any they most likely are intentional.
> 
> I hope my portrayal of Dan isn't too OOC here. I needed to amp up the negative parts of his personality to make this pairing in this AU work. Sorry...
> 
> Regarding the unhealthy relationship aspect, let's just say that while Light is only attracted to Dan because of the physical likeness (we all know Light is one narcissistic megalomaniac), not because he is attracted to Dan as an individual, Dan also exoticises Light's Asian-ness, hence the bit about him fetishising Light's accent. Besides, even before their relationship soured, they were never equals intellectually or emotionally (since Light is a master manipulator anyway, he never really opens up / shares himself with Dan).
> 
> The ending is meant to be ironic (which fits Dan's aesthetic doesn't it ayyy) - in that Dan never realises that he literally had a brush with death in his time with Light (since Ryuk has been in his Manchester apartment a few times, plus Light had the DN all along), and him forgiving the other boy and wishing Light well in the end is too late, because Light had already completely destroyed himself, falling from grace and killing himself in the process. The irony also kicks in here because if Dan had found out about DN / found out about Ryuk / (although highly unlikely) realised Light was Kira, he wouldn't have lived to forgive and wish Light well at all. Also, had Light/Kira not been eliminated, Dan wouldn't even be able to travel to Tokyo (because of the government-enforced curfews in response to the international terrorist-esque threat of Kira's rising power).
> 
>  **A note on the chronology:**  
>  The exchange students that I’ve met here, who are doing year-long exchange programmes at UK unis, tend to leave before term 3 (summer term) starts. Sadly I haven’t stayed in contact with the Japanese exchange students I met here so I can’t ask them for confirmation, but I assume it’s the same for Japanese exchange students (since their home unis’ academic year ends at March – at least it is for Todai/Tokyo Uni).  
> (( this suddenly made me very sad – maybe I’ll never see them or talk to them again D: coincidentally they ARE from Tokyo Uni… ))
> 
> I’m aware that Dan’s slightly-emo fringe in 2011-12 doesn’t look really like Light’s haircut, so just imagine he had his hair [in this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmi2u1zRM0A) instead.
> 
> Imagine Phil with grown-out hair though, [like in 2009](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iPCfzrFSIKI), so when Light first meets him Phil looks like L.
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. the extra PlayStation player is Ryuk and it’s registered as “Baps”. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) (comment if you get the reference)


End file.
